


On the Horizon

by ThatSmallWeirdo



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Adventure, Eventual Romance, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21509584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSmallWeirdo/pseuds/ThatSmallWeirdo
Summary: Lunaria Swiftblade fled to Outland as war swept through Azeroth, devastated by the loss of her home in Teldrassil. She swore to make it by as a lone wolf from then on, with nobody but her loyal Frostsaber to keep her company. However, she's inadvertently swept back into the fray when she stumbles upon a strange dragon whelp in the wastelands of Shadowmoon Valley. Her one split-second decision changes the course of what she thought her life had become, and not just for the better. Along with new, unlikely allies, she sets off on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure across Azeroth and beyond, finding a new place to call home along the way.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue: Heartbreak

A lone night elf sat hunched on the scorched grey ground, staring blankly at a large pile of disturbed soil and rocks in front of her. Her once-white hair was streaked with dirt and dried blood, the clumped strands framing her pale purple face. With a choked sob, her blank facade broke and she bit her lip to keep herself from breaking down further, one of her long canines drawing blood. Moving jerkily she cast around with her hands, lighting upon a larger stone off to her side. Taking a shuddering breath she pulled out a small skinning knife, using the tip of the blade to etch writing into the flattest face of the rock. After a short time she finished, running a thumb gently over the words that now marred its surface.

_Here lies Nightrunner, beloved pet and companion of Lunaria Swiftblade. May he live on forevermore in the loving embrace of Elune._

Lunaria wiped the sweat and grime from her forehead, sitting back on her heels and staring up at the fel-torn sky of Shadowmoon. A few silent tears slipped down her cheeks, leaving tracks in the green-tinted grey dust that coated her body. She had fled to Outland to escape the pain and loss that remained waiting for her in Kalimdor, with nobody but her beloved pet to keep her company.

Her fingers twitched as she felt the urge to run her fingers through the silky white fur behind her Frostsaber’s ears, then clenched into tight fists when she realized she never would again.

The night elf sat there for hours, staring blankly as the tears slowly stopped flowing and dried on her cheeks. Finally, as her legs began cramping and her back grew stiff, Lunaria pulled herself to her feet. Her tattered pack and quiver sat a few feet away, which she gathered up and, with one last long look at the makeshift grave, turned to leave. 

“May Elune light your path, friend.” She whispered into the stagnant air.

With a deep, steadying breath she put one foot in front of the other, taking a shaky step forward, then another. The woman sped up quickly, until she was practically running away from where she had buried her beloved companion. It wasn’t until the dusty hill had long since faded from sight that Lunaria stumbled to a stop, her numb feet catching on the cracked ground and causing her to fall. A cloud of thick dust rose up from her impact, choking her lungs and burning her glowing eyes with its fel-taint. With a half-crazed chuckle she decided that it was time to leave Shadowmoon. She’d had enough if its disgusting fel pools, wandering demons, and its desolate, apocalyptic landscape. It was too soon for her to return home to Kalimdor, but at least she could move on to somewhere like Nagrand, or even the Terrokar Forest.

_Home._

A mix of anger and anguish twisted her face into an ugly, pinched frown. What was she saying? She had no home now. Teldrassil had burned, and with it any trace of home had gone up in flames with it, now nothing but pain and ashes. That’s what had drawn her to Outland in the first place. While Illidan had turned back to their side long ago, and the demons were all but defeated in this twisted land, many stragglers still remained. There was always work to be found as the denizens of the land tried to rebuild after the destruction the Burning Legion had wrought upon them so many years ago. It’s what still drew adventurers like her here, though in considerably smaller numbers. Many flocked instead to Draenor, the land that Outland had once been, seen through the lens of an alternate dimension. It was beautiful and whole there, but here she could eke out a modest living on odd jobs without all the usual competition.

Now, however, she wished she had never even stepped foot in this cursed place. If she hadn’t, her companion and last link to her former life and family would still be alive. Nightrunner had been a gift from her mother ten years ago, when she had first set out on her own. She’d been considered quite young for a Night Elf, having only hit her one hundred and twentieth birthday just a few weeks before. Her mother had surprised her with a young Frostsaber cub as a gift, claiming that if she were to be a proper hunter and explore the world, she would need a faithful companion to do so.

And oh, had Nightrunner been the most loyal friend she’d ever had. Being a hunter she had learned to mind-meld with her pets, so as to better command them in the middle of a battle. She’d never expected animals to be so clever, and the snowy feline had shocked her with how intelligent and aware he was. He was there for her as she and her mother grew distant, as Lunaria worked to make a name for herself in the world, and on the day she heard the news that Teldrassil was under attack.

That Teldrassil had burned.

She thought no day could ever be worse than when she had learned that her home, her mother, and everyone she’d known growing up had perished, incinerated by the evil excuse for a Horde Warchief, Sylvanas Windrunner. But somehow, today still managed to place up there. For even on that day she hadn’t been by herself. But now… Now she was truly alone.

It was all because of the accursed Horde that she had lost everything near and dear to her. They had taken away her home, her family, and her closest companion. She thought back to the events of just a few hours ago, when she’d lost the last of what was precious to her.

* * *

She and Nightrunner had run into a group of three Horde scavengers at one of the demonic ruins that littered Shadowmoon Valley, and they had been outnumbered. The group had a healer as well as a warrior and a rogue. They were, frankly, outmatched. But the two put up a hell of a fight, and had managed to incapacitate the priest after a drawn-out struggle. However, as Lunaria was distracted notching an arrow at the warrior, the rogue had managed to throw a knife her way, and she hadn’t realized until it was too late for her to dodge. She’d closed her eyes, and made peace with Elune.

But the knife never hit, instead sinking deeply into the pelt of her Frostsaber. Her eyes had wrenched open at the sickening tearing sound that echoed in her ears, shock painted all over her face. He had shielded her with his own body, saving his master in the only way he knew how. The large cat fell to the ground with a gurgling yowl, his paws twitching as he writhed in pain. Nightrunner’s snowy pelt had quickly become stained with blood, and wispy veins of green began creeping out from where the knife was buried up to the hilt. The blade was poisoned, she’d realized. There was truly no hope for her companion, then. At the very least, she would have her revenge, and take the remaining two Horde adventurers to the grave with them.

With an enraged cry the Night Elf woman had cast her bow aside, pulling two gleaming twin blades from the sheathes at her sides. They weren’t quite as short as daggers, but also weren’t full sized blades either. They shimmered with an ethereal blue glow, the telltale signs of an enhancement. Her eyes practically glowed with fury and anguish as she launched herself at the orc warrior, her blades skittering off his plate armor as he laughed and swatted her away with a huge arm. Infuriated, Lunaria changed tactics and launched herself backwards, surprising the Forsaken rogue that had been creeping up behind her, causing him to drop his stealth for a moment. 

She took advantage of his lapse in concentration, dropping a flare at his feet, as well as a freezing trap as she landed. The undead rogue was so shocked that he stepped away from her automatically, unaware that he’s flipped the magical trip, setting off the trap. He was quickly encased in a jagged chunk of ice. With him incapacitated for a short time, Lunaria returned her attention to the now furious Orc, who was charging her down. Waiting until the last minute, she rolled to the side just as she could practically see every pore on the green monster’s cheeks. 

With a guttural cry she dug her left heel into the packed ground and used her momentum to slide around in a tight circle, swinging her blades down to the backs of his knees as he tried in vain to stop his charge. They slid easily into the space between his armor plates, and with a crunch buried deep into the soft flesh at the joint, stopping only when they reached the back side of his knee-caps. The orc roared in agony, swinging an arm around to try and hit her upside the head, but the Night Elf was already stumbling away, her eyes fixed on her discarded bow. 

She snatched up the weapon as the Orc attempted to stand, only to stumble forward and catch himself with his hands as his legs wouldn’t cooperate. Lunaria grit her teeth and notched an arrow, aiming it at her incapacitated opponent’s head. She called upon her small magical reserve, imbuing the arrow with as much arcane magic as she could muster, letting it go with a warcry. 

The Orc didn’t even have time to turn his head towards her before the arrow hit home, obliterating everything above his shoulders with a deafening bang. Panting, the Night Elf slid her bow into her quiver, running to the now smoking corpse of the horde soldier. The ice trap she’d trapped the rogue in was quickly melting; she had to recover her swords quickly. Without the element of surprise, her bow was useless against a rogue.

The blades were lodged so deep into his flesh that at first they wouldn’t pull free. Lunaria gritted her teeth, bracing one foot against the corpse as she pulled with all her might to release the weapons. By now, the rogue’s upper half was exposed, and he was chipping at the ice frantically with his daggers. It would only be a matter of seconds before he would get free.

With one last pull the blades slipped free, splattering her face with the dark, almost black blood of the orc. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as the rogue broke free from the ice with an enraged hiss. He fixed his sickly, glowing yellow eyes on her, and Lunaria distractedly noticed that he had no lower jaw. His tongue hung limply from the place where his neck and jaw would have connected. Disgust filled her as she hissed back at the Horde member, baring her white canines at the abomination. 

He charged at her with his daggers raised, still unable to stealth as her flare burned brightly a few feet away. However, she had no such limitation, and called upon the gift of the Kaldorei, sidestepping and melding into the shadows. The Forsaken stopped in shock, whipping his head around as he tried to find her location. Her shadowmeld would only last a few seconds, so she had to work quickly while she had the advantage. She maneuvered around behind him, flipping her blades around in her hands, pointing their tips inwards.

With a growl that bordered on a roar she hurtled them downwards, towards the undead man’s neck. He tried to turn around in time as he noticed what she was doing, but it was too late. Her blades found purchase in the side of his neck. He looked at her in shock, and she knew if he had a jaw it would have been hanging slack as he looked at her in surprise. Her long brows pinched together as she snarled at him, almost catlike, then wrenched her knives outwards with all her might. His head flew off with a great rip, the rotting flesh giving way easily against the cold metal of her weapons.

Lunaria stood there panting for a moment after his body had slumped to the floor, adrenaline rushing in her ears and heart pounding. Her mind was foggy, but she allowed herself a small spark of pride at her victory. Then, as if waking from a trance, she threw her knives to the ground, running back over to the collapsed white form that lay still and lifeless a ways away. She knew the moment her knees hit the ground next to him that it was already too late. He was gone. The poison had acted fast, spreading from where the blade had slipped cleanly between his ribs. The felines’ mouth hung open in a silent snarl, his eyes empty and glassed over. A pool of blood lay stagnant beneath him, soaking into the knees of her leather leggings, turning them a dark, rusty brown. The Night Elf gathered his large head in her arms with a strangled gasp, pulling him against her chest.

With nobody left alive around her, she let out a heart-wrenching wail, tears streaming down her face.

She was alone.

* * *

Lunaria pulled herself to her feet, wiping away the fresh tears that spilled from her eyes. Crying would do her no good now, and her head already pounded with exhaustion and from the pain of crying for hours on end. She readjusted her pack and quiver on her back, moving towards a rocky outcropping not too far away. It sported a small crevice in the middle of it, wide enough for her to slip into with her possessions, hiding her from sight and protecting her on three sides. It would have to do for now, since her limbs felt like lead, and her mind was fuzzy with fatigue. There were no settlements for miles around, and at the moment Lunaria didn't feel much like having company, anyway.

So she dropped down to the ground again, sliding her backpack and quiver off, shoving them into the small cavern. Glancing around to make sure it was safe, she crawled in after them. Inside the rocky outcrop she was surprised to find that what she thought was just a crack in the rock was actually a small abandoned den. It was a bit larger inside, giving her enough room to sit up with just a slight hunch. While it was too small to stretch out fully, she was able to comfortably curl up on her side, pulling her knees up to her chest as she let out a shaky breath. 

The hunter didn’t know what her next move would be, or where she would go after she had rested. The fight with the horde adventurers had left her with very little supplies, as most of what she’d had was either destroyed or used up during the battle. She’d managed to scavenge some gold pieces and a few healing supplies and food items from their possessions, but it wasn’t nearly enough to last her. No matter what, it looked like she’d be stopping at Wildhammer Stronghold to resupply. Maybe from there she could catch a gryphon to Shattrath. 

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to take the portal back to Azeroth yet, but at least she’d be able to reach nearly any place in Outland from the region’s capital. And so, with that thought in mind, she allowed her burning eyes to close, pulling her pack over into her arms, holding it against her chest as she quickly fell into a fitful, restless sleep.


	2. The Beginning

Lunaria woke with a start, bolting upright, only to slam her forehead against the low ceiling of the cave. With a curse she grabbed her now pounding head, her hands coming away slightly slick with fresh blood. Now she could add a migraine to her list of aches and pains from her fight the day before. Her mind was still foggy with sleep, and she couldn’t fathom what had caused her to lurch up so suddenly. She was sure there had to be a clear imprint of the rock above her etched into her lavender skin. She suddenly froze in the middle of wiping her forehead, her sensitive ears picking up a strange sound in the distance. It must have been what had woken her up in the first place. 

The elf shook the haziness from her vision and grabbed her belongings, quickly slinging them over a shoulder as she crawled from her temporary shelter. It sounded like a creature in distress, except that the wail sounded like nothing she'd ever heard before. Granted, there were more creatures in the cosmos and Azeroth than she could have ever imagined, but this one was particularly strange. It sounded somewhere between the screech of a bird and the bellow of a crocodile, but she could clearly read the pain and distress in it. Curious and disturbed she listened again for the sound, her long ears picking up on the direction it came from as she heard it call out again. 

Being both a hunter and a child of the Kaldorei, it pained her to hear an animal is such obvious distress. Yes, she hunted to survive, but that did not mean she didn't respect nature and all its inhabitants. She killed when necessary, but never for fun. And whatever was happening in the distance, it sounded as if the creature was being tormented. It's calls were growing weaker even as she drew nearer to the source, until finally they cut off with a strangled yelp.

Lunaria quickened her pace until she nearly tripped over a strange mass of blue and purple scales. She skidded to a halt, her arms pinwheeling as she tried not to fall on the strange mass. Before the elf could get a closer look at what it was, a furious squeal wrenched her attention away. Her eyes widened in shock and panic as a massive green felboar charged at her from the left. With barely a moment to think, Lunaria ducked and rolled backwards, away from the injured creature on the ground in front of her. It would do no good if either she or the boar trampled the already injured animal. Not that she was sure if it was even still alive. 

Unfortunately, she hadn't quite moved in time, and while the brunt of the boar's massive bulk missed her, one of the large spikes on its side caught her arm. She gasped in pain as it impaled her right forearm, ripping out again as the animals momentum carried it away from her. The night elf snatched her arm back, cradling it against her chest as the now gaping wound oozed blood. She could barely move her fingers; her nerves must have been damaged. Great. She couldn’t even hold a bow now let alone use it. She’d have to think quickly if she wanted to take the Felboar out before she lost too much blood.

By now the fel-addled creature had swung back around to face her, his bright, glowing green eyes narrowed in fiery hatred. One of his hooves scratched at the ground, and with a bellowing screech he launched himself at her once again. Thinking fast, Lunaria launched herself to the side again, hardly managing to stay on her feet as the movement wrenched her arm. This time her timing was better, and the beast flew by just a hair’s breadth away. 

While the giant pig was still stuck in his charge she reached back with her uninjured arm, grabbing something from her pack. What she pulled out looked like a small and unassuming black ball. As the Fel beast spun around once again she pressed a small hidden button on the trap, arming it. The Night Elf waited until he began another charge before throwing the trap towards him. Spikes of all sizes shot out from the surface of the sphere, and when it landed in the boar’s path it embedded itself into the dirt with a thud.

The moment the massive animal placed his hoof onto the contraption a wave of sticky black tar erupted from the small trap. The long fur around its hooves immediately became stuck in the pitch, causing the beast to fall forwards onto its knees with a pained squeal. As it struggled against the sticky substance, Lunaria used her good arm to unsheath one of her blades, sticking the hilt of it between her teeth. Holding her injured arm close to her chest, she ran forward just as the boar was managing to get back onto its feet.

When she reached the edge of the dark puddle she leapt forward at the animal, grabbing one of its massive green tusks. Using it as an anchor she swung up onto its thick neck, digging in with her knees to keep it from bucking her off. This only seemed to infuriate it more, and it struggled harder against the thick tar. Unfortunately for it, the tar was beginning to set, and all its struggling had caused the thick substance to completely trap its legs. She could feel the long spikes on its back pressing against her own, and sent a quick thanks to Elune that the tips were pointed away from her. Once she’d gained a strong enough foothold she grabbed the knife from her clenched jaw, using all her strength to slam the blade deep into the side of the Felboar’s neck. 

With a roar the pig swung its massive head from side to side, trying desperately to throw her off. Her chin collided painfully with the thick neck of the boar, her fangs grating together painfully. She merely held on tighter and twisted the blade, driving it deeper. With a shudder the animal grew still, slumping down into the now semi-hardened tar. Lunaria merely sat catching her breath for another few moments, still clutching the knife’s hilt with white knuckles. Once she was sure the creature was actually dead, she yanked her knife out, leaning back against its spikes with a relieved sigh. She wiped the knife’s blade against its hide to remove some of the blackish blood marring its silver surface. Her relief was short lived, however, because as the adrenaline began wearing off her arm began to burn and throb.

Glancing down at her arm she frowned. While the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, her entire arm was glistening with blood. Drops of it had splattered all across her body during the fight, and she realized with a sigh that there was truly no saving any of her armor at this point. The edges of the wound were ragged and if she looked hard enough, seemed to glow a slight sickly green. So not only would it need to be healed, but cleansed of fel corruption as well. Fantastic.

Lunaria swung her legs off the fallen boar, now easily able to walk across the hardened tar. Her glowing eyes fixed upon the small blue heap that had drawn her there in the first place. It hadn't made another sound throughout the fight, and she was afraid her efforts had been in vain. Was it already dead? With slow, cautious steps she crept closer to it, crouching as she grew near to get a better look.

With a startled gasp she finally realized what the odd creature was. Or, at least, what it resembled. It was the crumpled body of a young dragon whelp, so covered in blood and wounds that she'd hardly recognized it at first. The whelpling was an odd cyan color beneath the blood and grime caking it's scales, with a lighter blue belly and wing membranes. It certainly wasn't a member of any Dragonflight she recognized from back on Azeroth. What was it doing out here, and where had it come from?

Yet it seemed like she would never know, since the creature had already succumbed to the nether. The Elf closed her eyes and began to speak a few words to send its spirit to Elune when a small sound stopped her. The whelp gave the slightest twitch, slowly opening it's dimly glowing blue eyes to look at her. Her own eyes widened in shock. It was still alive! Lunaria jumped into action, pulling her pack off and rummaging through it. She was no healer, but years of learning how to patch up her and her pets' wounds on the fly had to be worth something. 

She was immediately dismayed by how few supplies she had left. The elf pulled out a single small health potion, a roll of mostly-clean linen bandages, and a half full jar of ointment. It wasn't going to be enough for both of them, she realized in dismay. The baby dragon's wounds were too severe and extensive. It'd need all the bandages and salves she could spare if it were to have any chance. Making a quick decision she flipped the lid off the potion with a sharp pop, holding it in her good arm while nudging the whelp's head up with her injured arm. Elune, it hurt, but if she didn't tilt its head, the potion would just spill uselessly to the ground.

Slowly she poured the red tinted mixture between it's limp jaws, careful to avoid it's already very prominent teeth. It gazed warily up at her but made no move to protest, swallowing weakly. Whether that was out of trust or just inability to refuse, she didn't know. It would take a short time for the health potion to begin replenishing its blood supply, so in the meantime Lunaria set to work patching up it's wounds, first slathering them in generous amounts of ointment, then bandaging them as tight as her weakened right hand afforded. Halfway through the process the whelp had closed its eyes again, and she hoped it had merely fallen asleep rather than passed out.

By the time she finished her task, she had to grit her teeth against the agony shooting up her arm. A part of her regretted not using the potion on herself, but at the same time knew the dragon had needed it far more. The whelp now looked akin to a mummy, wrapped almost completely as it was in off white cloth. Once she was satisfied that the wraps would stem any further bleeding, she set to work tending her own injury. It would do no good if she herself succumbed to infection before ever making it out of this accursed wasteland. For bandages she used an old black blouse from her pack, shredding it into strips. There was just a touch of ointment left for her to put on herself, and she hoped it would do until they made it to Wildhammer. 

They?

She cocked her head at the thought. The night elf hadn't really thought that far ahead. She’d been so focused on trying to help the poor dragon that she hadn’t thought about what would come after. They were in the middle of a barren, fel-torn wasteland; of course she couldn’t leave it out here alone, even after tending its injuries. The whelp would need care from an actual healer in order to recover, not just patching up from a nearly magicless hunter. After what happened to Nightrunner yesterday, Lunaria really didn’t want to take another creature into her care, but it seemed she didn’t have much choice. 

Yet tt was an unspoken rule amongst hunters that once you tended to and healed a wild animal, it became your responsibility. Whether you then took it as a pet or later released it back into the wild mattered not. You couldn’t simply feed an orphaned wolf pup, then abandon it once it was dependent on you. It would have been kinder to leave the wolf to die in the first place or put it out of its misery rather than give it a fleeting hope at life. Sure the situation was a bit different concerning a dragon, but the basic rules applied.

So she’d take the poor thing to Wildhammer and find someone there who could figure out where it came from. Then she’d foist it off onto someone who knew how to care for it and resume her wallowing in peace. 

With that settled she finished tying off her makeshift bandage, relieved that the ointment had started to take the edge off the pain. The feeling had started to return to her fingers, though they were still clumsy and she couldn’t quite grip anything. It would have to do for now. With any luck, the nerve damage wouldn’t be permanent if she found a healer quickly.

She was roused from her thoughts as the whelpling stirred again, looking up at her with somewhat brighter, but still wary eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget that dragons and their young were just as intelligent as any race on Azeroth or beyond. If anything, they were probably among the most clever. Even if this one was still just a baby, it probably had the perception of a similarly aged child of any other sentient race. She couldn’t just scoop it up without explanation like she would a puppy. 

“Can you understand me?” She spoke softly, not wanting to startle the dragon.

It cocked its head slightly at her words, letting out a sharp breath. The Night Elf put a hand to her chin, tilting her head in thought. It’d been years since she’d had to struggle to communicate with an animal, as she and Nightrunner had successfully mind-melded once the Feline had grown. While the sabre was still young, they’d communicated using a mixture of verbal cues, sign language, and lots of frustration. The whelpling’s eyes stared intelligently up at her as it stiffly struggled to its feet. She could tell it spent little time walking on its legs; from what little experience she’d had with dragon whelplings in the past, they spent most of their time flying.It settled down on its hind legs much like a groundhog would, its small bandaged forelegs hanging down in front of its belly. It was a rather adorable sight, and Lunaria immediately felt her heart warm up to the small creature.

“I can take you to get some help, if you’ll let me. I can’t heal you, but the priests in a settlement nearby can.” She urged, holding her hands out to the strange dragon, sitting back on her heels in the blood-stained dirt.

It blinked slowly, shifting its gaze down to her outstretched hands. The dragonling seemed to consider her words for a few moments before giving a slight huff and falling forwards towards her arms. The Elf had to lunge forward to grab the whelp, wincing at the pain that jolted up her arm. She scooped it up carefully, minding both its and her own wounds. When she looked back down its eyes had closed, and its breathing had evened out to slow puffs. Its small body had been through so much, and it still had a long road to recovery. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She mumbled to herself, her mauve lips curving up in a small smile. It was so small still, and she was at once reminded of when she used to hold Nightrunner in her arms when he was a tiny cub. Her heart lurched painfully, and her smile faded. It was time to focus on the issues at hand, not dwell on the past. With a sharp shake of her head she shifted the dragon to rest against her left shoulder, its head lolling limply against her arm. Once it was secured with her good arm, she reached down and grabbed for her backpack. 

Lunaria nearly cried out in agony at the action, gritting her teeth with a strangled grunt. Hot pain lanced up her arm as her fingers cramped and throbbed. She waited a few minutes for the pain to recede to a dull ache, then bit her cheek and tried again. This time she managed to swing a strap over her right shoulder before her arm gave out. It took another few minutes before her tortured pants calmed and the Elf was able to take a deep, steadying breath. The world spun as she took a wobbly step forward, but the Kaldorei pressed on. Both she and the little dragon needed medical help quickly if either of them were to make a full recovery. Her arm was beginning to go numb, the wound dribbling dark crimson droplets onto the ground. The parched grey dust soaked up the drops almost greedily, as if the very ground beneath them were a hungry beast, waiting for her to succumb to her injuries so it could swallow her up.

It was a ridiculous thought, but the unease it brought niggled uncomfortably in the back of her mind anyway. She quickened her pace even as her limbs protested the action. Wildhammer Stronghold lay to the southwest, but it was exceedingly difficult to determine ones’ directions when the floating planets and stars of the twisting nether never set in one single direction.The chaotic sky above gave her no directional clues, unlike the sun and two moons back on Azeroth. At once a wave of homesickness crashed over her, nearly swallowing her whole. She missed the consistent days back on her homeworld, and decided that even if her true home was gone, she would at least travel back to Kalimdor once this mess blew over.

If she were to hurry, perhaps the two of them could reach the Stronghold within the next few hours. Lunaria searched the hazy green skyline for the telltale fel-spewing volcano, the Hand of Guldan. When she spotted the craggy peak the elf turned so that it was to her back. A well worn road lay to the west of the mountain, stretching from the entrance to the Terrokar Forest all the way down and around the volcano to the opposite side of the region. If she headed far enough west she was sure to stumble onto it, and from there it branched straight to Wildhammer.

Lunaria glanced down to the still form pressed tightly against her chest, its bandaged head resting against her shoulder. If only she’d taken the many words of advice she’d received along her travels to invest in a gryphon. It would have taken an hour at most to reach a healer, and they could have bypassed the Stronghold completely and made it to Shattrath in two. But as it was, hindsight did her no good, so with a heavy sigh she put one foot in front of another, beginning her long tredge west.


	3. Fight or Flight

A/N: Not happy at all with this chapter, but it just refused to cooperate with me. I wanted to get this boring bit over with so we could get on with the good stuff. It’ll be a few chapters before the story really starts rolling, and I know if I try and wait for my writer’s block to pass it could be months before I’m happy with the result. Sorry if it’s pretty slow and boring! It’s the longest chapter so far, so at least there’s that.

______

“Hello? Can ya….”

“I dunno know if she’s…hey…”

“Lady, can ya hear me?”

Broken phrases floated through her head, muffled and distorted as if she held it deep under water. What was going on? It felt as though her limbs were made of lead and her head was stuffed with cotton. She tried to move her mouth to speak, but her tongue was fuzzy and thick, refusing to cooperate. It was hard for her to breathe, and her chest felt oddly heavy. Even her eyelids were too heavy to make more than a weak flicker. What had happened to her? 

Something nudged at her shoulder, shaking her as it uttered some incomprehensible words. Was she dying? Is that why she felt so disconnected from everything? Her body felt at once on fire yet ice cold at the same time. Vague memories began to swim to the surface of her molasses-thick thoughts. That’s right, she’d been injured during the fight with that monstrous felboar. She’d plodded slowly across the flat expanse of Shadowmoon, her vision slowly growing dimmer as the hours ticked by. The Night Elf had ended up draping the whelpling over her shoulder after even her good arm threatened to give out under its slight weight.

At some point her knees had buckled, and Lunaria fell to the ground in a cloud of choking powder. The dragonling had tumbled down next to her with a squawk, blinking its bright blue eyes at her prone form. The blood loss and exhaustion from the past two days had finally become too much for her body, and she felt her mind slowly fading into the embrace of unconsciousness. Her whole body felt aflame with pain, radiating out from her mangled left arm.The last thing she remembered was the baby dragon crawling towards her face, letting out a series of shrieks and whines as her eyes slowly closed and she succumbed to the release of unconsciousness.

The elf had been certain she’d die out there in the desolate waste, but yet here she was now, semi conscious again. Had the two of them been found by allies? Foes? Without being able to open her eyes, she had no way of knowing. Something huffed over her face, the wisp of air tickling her nose. 

Her disjointed musings were interrupted as something slid beneath her neck and tilted her head up off the ground. Something hard was pressed against her lips, and a cool liquid was carefully poured into her mouth, a few refreshing drops escaping to flow down her face into her tangled hair. Lunaria swallowed on reflex, nearly choking as it began to burn her dry throat. For a brief moment she was convinced the stranger had poisoned her, forcing her to swallow acid. But almost as soon as the burning had begun, it faded, leaving a pleasant warmth and tingle in its wake. The heat spread from her throat and stomach, inching its way throughout her body, dimming her aches and pains as it went. The feeling was familiar to her; a healing potion. 

Her body relaxed as she realized that whoever was holding the flask to her mouth must be friendly if they were attempting to heal her. She thanked Elune for her luck. After a few moments her strength began to return, and the elf was able to open her glowing silver eyes. Immediately her vision was filled with cyan scales and white cloth. She blinked confusedly. It took a moment for her to realize it was the dragon whelpling. It sat upon her chest with it's small head pushed into her face, practically touching her nose. When it saw her eyes open it gave a high pitched squeal, then rumbled in what almost sounded like a raspy imitation of a purr. 

"Ah, hey little one." Lunaria rasped, her voice a hoarse whisper. Even after drinking the potion her throat was as dry as Tanaris; she wondered if her saviors would spare her a canteen of water as well. With difficulty she reached her good arm up, fighting against her exhaustion to place her hand on the dragons head. The whelp made a happy sounding yip as she stroked the cloth covered scales there.

Her eyes were drawn to her left when a bearded face came into view, leaning down and shooing the dragon off her chest. The whelp growled slightly at him and snapped at his waving hand, but soon complied, sliding down to lean against her side instead. It watched the man with wary eyes while the man smiled down at her, seemingly unconcerned by the small dragonling’s antics. He was a middle-aged human man with a full dark brown beard and short-cropped hair peppered with hints of gray. His eyes seemed kind, with crows feet wrinkling the corners. 

"That's a strange companion ya have there, Lady. You’re lucky for it, too. If that damn dragon hadn’t been screaming it's scaly tail off we never woulda found ya." He grimaced slightly, glancing over at the dragon in question, who had taken to nipping at the bandages on its small forearms, seemingly ignoring them completely. “He sure made it hard to actually get to ya though. Growling and snapping at us like he was. Thoron is probably all the way back to Wildhammer by now. Left me to babysit while he flew off to get another gryphon. Ya almost made it to the Stronghold though, it’s only a few miles south from here.”

Lunaria blinked confusedly as the man rattled on, her mind still trying to comprehend what exactly was going on. The health potion was working wonders on her body, so instead of trying to reply to the human man she focused on willing her body to sit up. Her arm still burned like hellfire, but it had at least diminished to a point that she could stand. No amount of potions could fully heal such a deep wound; she’d need actual healing and purification for that. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to will away the slight haze that was still settled on her brain. Had she really lost that much blood? The elf jumped slightly when she opened her eyes to a canteen thrust under her nose.

“Here, have a drink. It’ll put some pep back in yer step.” The man grinned at her, stark white teeth shining from beneath his mustache. She took a moment to study him before accepting the silver flask with a nod of thanks. He looked like the average warrior, decked out in plate armor and sporting what looked like a weathered battleaxe strapped across his back. He would have looked somewhat imposing if not for his smiling face, and the fact that he must have been about a foot shorter than her own nearly seven feet.

With a relieved sigh Lunaria uncorked the flask and took a long swig, only to promptly choke and nearly spit out the offending liquid. The damn man had offered her spirits rather than the water she had assumed it was. The strong alcohol burned her throat, and with much difficulty she swallowed the drink, sputtering as it burned the whole way down. She’d never admit such a thing, but her tolerance for alcohol was rather low. It was a cliche she didn't share in; the brazen adventurer downing jugs of bourbon and whiskey after a successful battle or lucrative venture. In fact, she really only induled in the occasional glass of wine or cider on special occasions.

“You! Are you trying to kill me?” She managed to choke out between coughs, whirling an accusing glare at the man beside her. The Kaldorei jabbed one of her pale purple fingers towards the mans face, using her other hand to cover her reddened face.

“What’s this? Can’t hold yer liquor, lass? A little bit of Don Carlos Tequila does wonders to relieve pain. Or at least make ya not care about it!” He laughed heartily at that, throwing back his head and slapping a hand to his thigh. The Night Elf slammed the cork back into the flask’s spout, throwing it disgustedly back into the human’s lap. He merely shook his head with a chuckle, tucking the silver flagon beneath his breastplate. 

“But all joking aside, ya were in quite a state when Thoron and I found ya. For a moment we thought ya’d already kicked the bucket.” His grin faded as his eyes became serious, glancing down at the blood and dirt-caked bandages that were still wrapped loosely around her arm. He tapped a finger to her elbow, causing her to flinch slightly at the twinge of pain it caused. “What tried to chew yer arm off?”

“I was taken by surprise by a Felboar trying to save this little one.” She replied simply, petting the whelpling that still sat beside her, watching the two of them intently as they talked. “He was out in the middle of nowhere beaten almost to death. I don’t even know quite what he is or where he came from.”

The human hummed to himself, rubbing his beard as he stared thoughtfully at the dragon.

“I know what he is, but not what he was doing out on his own. The Netherwing are usually extremely protective of their young.” Lunaria blinked at the term, cocking her head. She’d heard the Netherwing mentioned here and there throughout her travels in Outland, but never thought she’d meet one. They were a mysteriously elusive species of dragon long thought to be nothing but an adventurer’s tale. Yet once they were freed from the enslavement of the Dragonmaw Orcs, they began to pop up periodically across Outland. Still, they were rare enough that she hadn’t recognized the whelpling as one of their Dragonflight when she’d seen it.

The baby dragon had perked up at the mention of the Netherwing, nudging her hand with its small domed snout. It whined, long and high-pitched, staring up at her with wide, glowing cyan eyes.

“So you’re a Nether whelp. It may be hard to track down your family, then.” She murmured apologetically. Few people, if any, knew exactly where the Nether Dragonflight made their home. The whelp just blinked at her, cocking its head. The man cleared his throat loudly, drawing her attention back to him.

“Actually, it may not be as hard as ya think!” He grinned once again, tapping the side of his nose with his index finger. “I happen to know just where ya can find one of them.”

For a moment Lunaria couldn’t believe her luck. Somehow she had happened upon someone who knew how to help find the dragons home within less than a day of finding it. She opened her mouth to ask him where exactly that was when a loud caw pierced the air, drawing both their attention skyward. She could see three large, bird-like creatures descending towards them. Immediately her stomach plummeted to the floor. Gryphons. Suddenly, walking all the way to Wildhammer didn’t seem so bad.

There was another reason she had refused to purchase a flying mount after all her time in Outland; her slight fear of heights. Particularly, her fear of dangling suspended in the sky, thousands of feet off the ground, on the back of a beast that she had no real control of. What would stop a gryphon from getting spooked in the air and throwing her off its back? Or what if someone shot it out of the air? There’d be nothing she could do to stop her quick demise. Oh no, she much preferred being down on her own two feet where she couldn’t easily go splat.

“Well I’ll be! Ol’ Thoron sure hustled back to Wildhammer! Here he comes now, and with extra transport!” He stood quickly, his armor clanging in protest. The man held out his hand towards the elf, motioning with his head for her to take it. Hesitantly she grasped it, mostly because she was unsure if her feet would even cooperate at the moment. He pulled her up and helped keep her steady as she wobbled for a moment. Once she was sure her legs were steady she pulled away, turning her full attention back to the dreaded gryphons.

There were three of them, one armored in red-painted plates with the typical golden-brown coloration. The second one sported black feathers on its upper half while its lion half was a rusty red. The final one was snowy white with an almost purplish sheen that would have been beautiful if not for the fact that their presence was distressing to her. 

Sitting upon the back of the armored bird hybrid sat a stocky Dwarven man, his face nearly hidden behind a wild mane of fiery orange hair and matching long braided beard. He nearly disappeared on the back of the much larger animal and the sight was almost comical. He reached up a large hand towards them in greeting. When he spoke, his voice sported a thick Dwarven brogue. 

“Keenan ya right bastard! How’d ya manage ta’ get ‘er back on ‘er feet so fast?" The Dwarf called out to them as he thudded to the ground in a rain of dust. The other two mounts followed suit, preening themselves disinterestedly as the human walked over to his friend. Even sitting astride the tall Gryphon Thoron sat at face level with Keenan. The two of them clasped hands in greeting.

"Nothin' a few health potions can't fix! Took my whole stock though, the lass guzzled down two of them before she even woke up!" His eyes twinkled with mirth as he turned back to Lunaria, hands planted on his hips.

"Hah! It's a right good thing ya always over prepare for scouting then. I'd 'a hated to have ta drag 'er back unconscious." He patted the neck of his mount lovingly, indicating the other two with a sweep of his hand. "Well, let's get ya back ta civilization before the potions start ta wear off. They ain't gonna protect ya from infection, and I'd hate ta see such a pretty young thing lose an arm."

The Night Elf frowned at how they were talking about her. She would bet good money she was older than either one of them, and maybe even both combined. Keenan noticed her expression and decided to step in, patting his friend on the shoulder amicably.

"Here, I can help ya and the little one up. You shouldn't be putting stress on that arm until it's healed." He paused, pursing his lips for a moment. "Never did catch yer name. As ya probably gathered, the names Keenan, Keenan Stratford. The pint-sized paladin over there is Thoron Grimrock."

Thoron shot her a smile and salute, pulling a smile to her face. A nudge against her leg pulled her attention downwards. The dragon had it's nose pressed against her calf, looking up at her with pitiful eyes. She reached down and gathered the dragon whelp up in her arms, where it turned around until it faced the two men. 

"I'm Lunaria Swiftblade." She motioned to the whelpling with a chuckle when it chirped, not wanting to be left out. "Then there's this little one here, though I'm not sure what his name is yet."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet ya then, Lunaria, though i wish it had been under better circumstances." He gave a dramatic bow, walking over to the white gryphon and holding a hand out for her. "Now, I do believe yer chariot awaits."

Lunaria blanched at that, tightening her grip unconsciously so that the dragon turned to her questioningly. Keenan blinked at her paling face, a slow smile spreading across his face knowingly.

"Don't tell me yer afraid of heights?" Thoron hooted with laughter off to the side. She bristled at that, pulling herself up to her fill height, which towered over both men. With her chin up she stalked towards the gryphon, ignoring the humans proffered hand as she went. Gritting her teeth she used her injured arm to grab a handful of feathers, keeping the whelp against her chest with her good arm. 

A sharp breath hissed between her teeth as she jumped up, swinging a leg over the creatures back. Keenan raised an eyebrow at her as she settled in, obviously trying to hide the pain the move had caused her.

"Feelin' better now?" He asked dryly, lowering his hand with a shrug.

"I'm not scared of heights. Just… untrusting of flying mounts." She grumbled. The gryphon turned an eye towards her with an indignant squawk, ruffling its feathers. Lunaria just shrugged, petting the downy feathers on the back of it's head. "Nothing personal."

"Whatever makes ya feel better about it!" The man quipped, holding his hands up with a barely concealed smirk. 

"Let's just get this over with." She sighed, carefully grabbing the mounts feathers since it wasn't outfitted with a saddle. The baby dragon settled between her legs, pressing its head back against her stomach so that it was securely between her arms. 

"Alright, let's get this show on the road!" He hollered towards Thoron who hooted in return. Keenan winked at her as he turned around and jogged towards the ebony and red gryphon. She just rolled her eyes in return, surprised that two middle aged men could act like teen boys. 

It was just a short flight then she'd be back on solid ground, healed and with a hot meal in her stomach. Lunaria repeated this as a mantra, trying to settle her jittering nerves. Her lingering pain was all but forgotten between her nerves and the rush of adrenaline the fear brought. The human man glanced back over at her after he'd settled into place on his mount, taking in her stiff posture.

Keenan grinned widely over at Lunaria as she gripped the Gryphon’s feathers with white knuckles, tugging his own mount’s reins until it sidled up alongside her. His eyes gained a mischievous glint to them as he reached into his breastplate, pulling out his small silver flask once again. He bounced it in his palm a few times before chucking it over to the nervous elf. She had to scramble to grab the flagon with her stiff fingers, nearly falling off the massive bird in the process.

“Think ya could use a bit a’ liquid courage now, yeah?”

The human howled in laughter as she righted herself. Before she could even protest he had dug in his heels and commanded his Gryphon into the air. Thoron chuckled deeply as well, following his friend into the twisted, green-streaked skies. 

Lunaria sighed in frustration and stared up at the two receding forms with a grimace. The whelp squealed excitedly, fluttering its wings as it stared up at the sky with bright eyes. Seeing the dragon so excited caused her shoulders to slump in resignation and she rolled her eyes skyward. Without another thought she yanked the cork out and quickly downed the flask’s contents with a gasp. Once it was empty she tucked the metal canteen into her backpack, then urged her mount forward.

The Gryphon squawked in protest then darted forward, kicking up dust as it stretched its massive wings. The whelpling replied with a pleased howl and stretched its bandaged wings as wide as they would go. The elf on the other hand tightened her arms around the dragon and squeezed her eyes shut, yelping as it took to the sky. She cracked an eye open as she heard raucous laughter over the wind, only to see both men flying alongside her. 

They both saluted her cheekily then pulled their birds into a nosedive. As they disappeared below, her own white gryphon turned its head back, fixing a beady blue eye on her with a predatory glint. It opened its mouth with a shriek and tucked its wings in, causing them to plummet beak first. Both her and the whelpling screamed, though hers was in terror rather than enjoyment. As tears leaked from her eyes and the wind whipped at her face, she knew this would be a long, long flight.


End file.
